


These Ties That Bind

by SweetAsCanBee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Kinda, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAsCanBee/pseuds/SweetAsCanBee
Summary: It happened when you were sixteen.You hadn’t seen it coming. Why would you? Soulmates weren’t a thing by the time you were born. It was an old concept, a montage of grainy, black and white photo montages you might see in a museum, or the history channel if there was nothing else to watch.And yet, it happened to you.___________________(P.S., I haven't started watching TFATWS yet, so no spoilers pweeaase! :) )
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 30
Kudos: 118





	1. JBB

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a soulmate au, so be gentle :)  
> Let me know what you think!

It happened when you were sixteen.

You hadn’t seen it coming. Why would you? Soulmates weren’t a thing by the time you were born. It was an old concept, a montage of grainy, black and white photo montages you might see in a museum, or the history channel if there was nothing else to watch.

The last recorded soulmate pairing happened in 1967. Ethel and Barry Manigold, from Des Moines, Iowa. You had remembered reading an article about the couple not long before, now old and gray, happy to have lived their lives together with their literal other half. Even back then, pairings had basically gone extinct, but against all odds they found each other. There had been a picture with the two of them, smiling and holding up their left wrists to display their marks, the visible manifestation of a bond that transcended space, time, or logic.

It was a sweet story, but it marked the end of that era of human history. Experts postulated that pairings phased out with the advancement of technology. People didn’t need markings to bring them together, to fall in love and procreate. A plane ticket, a car ride, the click of a mouse could bring people together better than anything else. “Soulmate” was just a word now, a whimsical title lovers gave each other that didn’t hold any true weight. Soulmates just weren’t a thing anymore. 

And yet, it happened to you.

It was a day that was seared in your memory, one that rocked the very foundation of your life up until that point.

You were in history class, barely paying attention. You should have been since the midterm was coming up soon, but that hadn’t been your biggest concern. You were mostly concerned about the winter dance that was happening that Friday. You had already gotten a pretty dress, one that you hoped would impress Nathan Farris, who you had a big crush on.

In fact, Nathan sat directly in front of you during history. You had been watching the back of his head when Mrs. Friedman had changed slides on the projector that day, displaying a picture that would change your life forever.

“Okay, so now we’re going to talk about a turning point during the Second World War,” you heard your teacher say, your eyes still on Nathan’s thick curls. You were obsessed with the tendrils at the nape of his neck, and it was a struggle every day not to reach out and stroke them.

“During the war, the U.S. government had developed a secret super-soldier program, one that aimed to create genetically modified soldiers that were stronger and faster than the average man. Can anyone tell me the name of the first and only successful participant of this program?” Mrs. Friedman asked the class, her eyes expectant.

“Steve Rogers,” you heard Sadie Winlow call out, and you rolled your eyes, though they promptly returned to Nathan’s curls. Sadie was the biggest ass-kisser in your class, and she thought she was the smartest too, though her grades would say otherwise. You couldn’t stand her, and you figured there was hardly anyone in the entire school who could.

“Yes, Sadie,” Mrs. Friedman said, and you could tell she was stifling a sigh. “Steve Rogers is correct. He would become Captain America, and lead a group of men called the Howling Commandos. They were instrumental in the war effort, particularly when it came to Hydra, a secret division of the Nazis,” she said, clicking the slide once more.

That’s when you looked up and saw him. Not Captain America, though he was in the middle of the sepia photo displayed at the front of the room. No, your eyes landed straight on the man to the Captain’s right. He had short, dark hair, slicked back and parted at the side. His skin looked smooth and alabaster, his jawline sharp, a little dip in the middle of his chin. He looked young, perhaps only a few years older than you when the photo was taken. He was in uniform, carrying a rifle in his hand, looking off to the side at some point beyond the camera, his jaw set, his face determined.

And his eyes.

You couldn’t tell what color they were, you couldn’t even really see them too well from where you were sitting, but you were enraptured by them. Despite the look on his face, despite the surroundings and circumstances around him, his eyes looked kind and warm. Your breathing grew uneven as you continued to look at the photo, the rest of the class fading away, your teacher’s voice becoming a dim buzzing in your ear. Nothing existed at that moment but you and that man in the photo.

You didn’t know who he was, you didn’t know his name, you shouldn’t have cared, but your heart was seized by something foreign, something you couldn’t explain, and it was drawing you to this unknown man at lightning speed. It was a feeling that was beyond you; you couldn’t control it, and you were being consumed by it.

That’s why it took you so long to notice that your wrist was on fire. It was the only thing that pulled your attention away from the man in the picture. You looked down at your wrist, and it was red and angry, tiny irritated bumps dotting the skin there. You hissed when you touched it, the burning only getting worse by the moment. Tears sprang up in your eyes, and you covered your wrist with your other hand as best you could, hiding it in your lap with gritted teeth.

“Hey, you okay?”

You looked up to see Nathan looking back at you, a wrinkle between his brows, a slight pout on his lips. You opened your mouth to respond to him, but no words came out. You felt pressure build in you, like a boulder was placed on your chest, crushing against your rib cage and starving your organs of oxygen. Your eyes slid past Nathan, something that would have been impossible only minutes before, and you looked at the photo of the Howling Commandos again, at _him_ , and you were gone.

More tears spilled onto your cheeks, not just because of your burning wrist, but because of the desperate tug you felt to the man in the photo, the searing need you had to be near him, to know him, to hear his voice, to feel his skin. But he was a photo, a flat image that could offer you nothing. It was excruciating.

“Seriously, Y/n, are you okay?” you heard Nathan say through your tears, adjusting himself in his seat so that he was facing you more fully.

You needed him, that man in the photo. You needed him, and he wasn’t there, and your heart was splitting in two.

You jolted from your desk, your chair falling behind you with a loud, rattling bang. You could barely see as you rushed through the row of desks to the classroom door, dimly hearing Mrs. Friedman calling out to you. You ran to the bathroom, past the neat line of classroom doors on either side of the hallway, and you bolted yourself in one of the cold, metal stalls. You sat on the toilet and grasped your head between your hands, trying to focus on your breathing and not the grief that was coursing through you.

You sobbed. Big, ugly, shuddering sobs that echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom, ones that shook your whole body and rubbed your throat raw. You wrapped your arms around yourself, grasping at the fabric of your shirt and jeans, rocking back and forth, trying to ground yourself again. You felt hollow, emptier than you ever had, more _alone_ than you ever had. 

Eventually, the sobbing stopped, reduced down to weak and wheezing breaths that came deep and slow. You felt yourself coming back from the ledge, something resembling normalcy, though you knew you were forever changed.

You sighed deeply, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, your mind piecing together what just happened as salty tears evaporated against your cheeks. You absently scratched at your wrist, and that’s when you saw it.

_JBB_.

Three simple letters, thin and black, rimmed with red, as if they were freshly needled onto your skin.

_JBB_.

You stared at the initials, you stared at them until they looked less like letters and more like undecipherable hieroglyphs. But you knew. You knew in your core what those letters meant, what they were connected to, _who_ they were connected to.

You thought back to Ethel and Barry, that sweet picture of them with their left wrists held up to the camera, proudly displaying the three letters etched into their skin for life, the marks that brought them together against all odds.

_JBB_.

You didn’t know what those letters stood for, but you knew they belonged to him. The man in the photo, the man who fought alongside Captain America decades before you even existed.

You knew that _you_ belonged to him. Somehow, through the pain still pulsing in your chest, it was a comforting thought. Somehow, you almost felt whole.

But he wasn’t there.

So where did that leave you?


	2. Gloved Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of self-harm, like one sentence.  
> 

_“A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice.”_

The narrator’s deep voice seeped out of the hidden speakers overhead as you and Sadie shuffled into the newly minted exhibit with the rest of the eager tourists. It had just opened six months ago, and it was a must-see for anyone visiting Washington D.C.

The two of you walked past the large mural of the Captain that welcomed guests as they walked in, his blue eyes shining under his cowl, his hand raised in a formal salute, stars and stripes billowing behind him. If someone had told you a couple of years ago that you’d be visiting a museum exhibit dedicated to a man that was found trapped in ice for 70 years, you would have laughed in their face. But here you were, surrounded by relics that outlined the life of Captain Steven Grant Rogers, the living legend, the national treasure. 

_“Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world’s first super-soldier.”_

“It’s unfair how attractive this man is,” Sadie said, shaking her head at an enlarged photo of Steve Rogers in his formal army uniform, standing around a table covered in maps along with other important people who were just as formally dressed, including Peggy Carter.

“He’s okay,” you said with a slight shrug, sneaking a finger under your left sleeve and rubbing slightly at your wrist.

Sadie looked at you incredulously. “Just ‘okay’? He’s the statue of David come to life,” she said, looking back up at the picture.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I guess the serum didn’t make _everything_ super-sized,” you muttered. Sadie laughed and nudged you a little, both of you migrating to the next display.

If someone had told you a couple of years ago that you and Sadie would become best friends in college, you wouldn’t have just laughed in their face, they probably would have gotten a slap too. Like with most things, though, time changed you and Sadie. You hadn’t even realized you had gotten into the same college as Sadie until you ran into her at freshman orientation. Three years later, you were basically joined at the hip, all of the high school ire and drama faded into the past. You kind of regretted hating Sadie so much during those years, but you were grateful you had her now. She was funny and loyal, and she was always a comforting presence when you needed it.

You definitely needed it now. It had been Sadie’s idea to visit the Captain America exhibit. Your school had offered a trip to Washington D.C. for poli-sci majors like Sadie, but when there were a few more open seats left, she had convinced you to join her for the week-long trip. It had been mostly visiting different government buildings and hearing lectures from elected officials, but there were a few scheduled days of downtime that you and Sadie took advantage of.

She knew Washington would be like a candy store for you. You were a history major, and the nation’s capital was chock full of history. You had already been to Arlington National Cemetery to see the eternal flame at JFK’s grave, you visited the Lincoln and Washington memorials, and other iconic landmarks the National Mall had to offer.

Your sudden interest in history had surprised your parents back in high school. You used to hate that subject, and your grades had certainly reflected that. But you had good reason to want to know more about American history, with a particular focus on World War II and the 20th century. No one else knew the reason, not even Sadie, so when you were hesitant about visiting the exhibit, she was shocked. You hadn’t wanted to raise any more suspicion, so you relented despite the pit that opened up in your gut. 

_“Battle-tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission: taking down Hydra, the Nazi rogue science division.”_

The pit only expanded as you and Sadie reached the display of all the Howling Commandos’ uniforms, neatly arranged on faceless mannequins, lined up with the portraits of the men who had worn them all those decades ago.

There he was. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

_JBB._

The portrait behind his uniform resembled the photo you had seen that day in Mrs. Friedman’s class for the first time. His sharp jaw and bowed lips, and those kind, warm eyes. No matter the picture, those eyes never changed. Not that there were many photos of him you could find. There wasn’t much information about him available anywhere, but you gathered pieces where you could, scraps of a life you were bound to, but would never be a part of. Here, though, there was plenty of Bucky Barnes around, even some artifacts from the childhood he shared with Steve. An old bike, a worn cap. This was the most of him that you had ever been surrounded by, and it hurt more than anything. 

Sadie walked ahead of you, bypassing the Commandos’ display with little thought. You were stuck there, though, gazing up at the man who owned your entire heart. The man who, unlike his best friend, was very much dead. A dull ache filled your chest, one that reminded you of the unbearable loss you had to bear, the loss of something you never got to have.

_“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable, on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service to his country.”_

You tore your eyes away from his portrait and walked up to a glass display not too far away that had his picture on it and a short inscription, an epitaph on a grave he was never afforded. You didn’t know the details of his death, just that it happened on a mission in Europe during the War.

You missed him. But how could you? You knew the bare minimum about this man, the one that only existed for you in the pages of historical documents. And yet, he was a burning fire in your heart, his very name etched into your skin.

At the base of the glass display was a screen, and short video snippets played out on it. The Sergeant with the Captain in uniform, looking over maps, smiling and laughing. Your breathing faltered and tears blurred your vision. This was the first time you had seen anything but a still photo of him. You watched him move, mystified by his purposeful grace, how every extension of his limbs brimmed with life and youth.

And his smile. The way his lips curved upwards and crinkled the corners of his eyes, those _damn eyes._ You had never seen him smile before, you realized, and the pain in your chest grew sharp and unforgiving.

Part of you wanted to hate James Buchanan Barnes. It wasn’t his fault necessarily, but you didn’t know who else to blame. Why would you have a soulmate you could never meet, never know? What cruel forces of the universe decided to toy with your life like this? You wished you were just crazy, that you just had some sort of weird obsession with this soldier from the past, but you knew that wasn’t true. Your mark was a reminder of that.

After the incident, you had tried everything to deny it, to be rid of it. You had tried to scrub it away in the shower. You tried countless creams that promised to remove dark marks from skin. You would have tried laser removal, but that would have required your parents’ permission and you didn’t want them to know. In your most drastic attempt, you had pressed your wrist against a pot of boiling water while your mother was cooking dinner and her back was turned. The burn had faded, but the letters never did.

You looked down and pulled up your left sleeve slightly. Despite the layer of foundation you had put over it that morning, you could see that the skin underneath was tinged pink, irritated and melancholy. That happened whenever you thought about him too much, like it was calling out to him even though there would never be an answer. You had become an expert at hiding your mark from other people, whether it was makeup, well-placed bracelets, or long sleeves. You didn’t want anyone to know. You could hardly believe it whenever you looked at those three letters, so you doubted anyone else would believe it either. You were scared you’d be committed to an institution, and part of you felt like maybe you should be.

No matter what, no matter how hard you fought it, James Buchanan Barnes was a part of you. You did extensive research on soulmates in the years after you had gotten your mark. You had hoped that you weren’t the only one, that maybe there were people out there like you, but nothing. You were really and truly alone.

You looked at the video screen again, at his smiling face, and it was too much. More tears spilled onto your cheeks and you placed a hand over your mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself to take a few deep breaths. When you felt composed enough, you stood a little straighter, wiping away at your cheeks, sniffling a little as you looked up to read the inscription on the glass display again.

You almost missed it.

The movement was so feather-light, you wouldn’t have noticed it unless you caught sight of the dark blue fabric in your periphery. You wiped at your eyes some more, a few stray tears escaping past your lids as you looked down to see a handkerchief being offered to you by an outstretched hand, covered in a black leather glove.

You blinked at it for a moment, surprised by the generosity of this stranger, embarrassed that someone had noticed your tiny breakdown. You gingerly took the handkerchief from the gloved hand, your mind scrambling to come up with something to say to its owner who stood just behind you. You wiped at your nose and turned, deciding that a simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, but when you looked up, the person was already gone.

You frowned, looking around at the sea of people gazing at the different displays in search of your benefactor. They were quick, whoever they were, but you knew they couldn’t have gone far. A few more moments of scouting and you were about to give up your search, when you spotted him.

You saw his retreating figure moving towards the entrance of the exhibit against the stream of tourists, and you caught his gloved hands dipping into his jacket pockets before he was swallowed up by the crowd. You stood there for a moment, your eyes following the back of his baseball cap, his dark hair peeking out from under it, just grazing his broad shoulders.

Before you could even think about it, you were following him, whoever he was. He was definitely fast, weaving effortlessly through the crowd as you pushed your way towards him, saying more than a few ‘sorry’s to the unsuspecting souls in your wake. As many steps as you took forward, he moved farther and farther away, out of your reach.

He rounded the corner of the entrance, and your heart lurched at losing sight of him. You fumbled past a few more layers of the crowd and followed him right out of the exhibit. Thankfully, the crowd thinned out in the lobby, dispersed throughout the wider space. You scanned around, looking for your mystery man, but he was nowhere in sight. An irrational panic gripped you as you rushed to the escalators that led to the rest of the museum. You stood at the top of the escalator, looking down its slope, and you saw him again, just as he was stepping off the bottom of the moving stairs and out of your line of sight. 

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” you said as apologetically as you could, pushing past the other departing guests that leisurely rode the escalator.

Each step you took was more urgent than the last, and you couldn’t understand why. You told yourself that you just wanted to return the handkerchief, to say a proper thanks, but you knew that didn’t explain why you were following this poor stranger like a maniac. You just knew you had to get to him.

You finally reached the bottom, wasting little time and forging ahead in the direction he went. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew he had gone straight once he had gotten off the escalator, possibly toward the main exit of the museum. You walked through the seemingly endless sea of museum-goers, and you wondered if the entire population of D.C. decided to visit the Smithsonian that day. You were about to lose hope when you spotted him again, his familiar cap bobbing through the crowd.

You moved toward him as fast as you could, not even bothering to apologize to those in your path anymore. You ignored the stares you received, focused only on getting to the man in the cap. You were gaining on him, but the crowd was becoming denser as you moved on, and you knew you would lose him soon. You couldn’t let that happen.

“Hey!” you shouted at his back, hoping he could hear you, hoping that he would know you were calling for him. “Hey, you! Baseball cap!”

Even more people were staring now, but you didn’t care.

“Hey! I have your handkerchief!” you shouted, a last hail mary as he pushed further into the crowd. To your relief, you saw him falter a bit, his steps slowing. He looked to the side, and you saw his profile, a short glimpse of his sharp jaw, dotted with stubble. It looked like he was about to turn in your direction, but you didn’t get to see if he ever did.

You were sent tumbling to the floor, your foot catching on something you didn’t see. Luckily, your nose was saved from connecting with the marble floor by your right arm, which took the brunt of the fall. You didn’t think you broke anything, but there was a shooting pain that reached your shoulder that told you something might have been out of place.

“I’m sorry ma’am, are you alright?!” you heard a woman say above you. A couple of hands helped you off the ground, and you dimly registered the pain in your shoulder again, but that wasn’t your most pressing concern. You looked toward your mystery man again, but you were obstructed by the concerned-looking woman holding a toddler that had on a backpack with an attached leash. You figured that’s what you had tripped on, though the little boy looked nowhere near as remorseful as his mother.

“Are you okay?” she asked again as she smoothed her son’s hair with a gentle hand.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said, trying to move past her, but she was insistent.

“Because I think they have a medical office here if you need it, you fell pretty hard,” she said, still standing in your way. You were losing time you didn’t have.

“I’m fine, thank you so much,” you said as politely as possible, placing a reassuring hand on her arm and swiveling past her. You heard her say something after you, but you didn’t have time for any more pleasantries.

He was gone.

You moved forward anyway, scanning the last place you saw him, but he was gone. A familiar feeling washed over you, a hollowness that took you back to a cold, metal bathroom stall in the middle of history class.

A thought entered your head. A small one, but you shook it off as quickly as it came. _He’s dead_ , you reminded yourself. You didn’t believe in ghosts, and you knew that your mystery man was anything but. You had felt his solid hand under yours when you took his handkerchief, saw other people brush past his very solid frame.

 _He’s dead,_ you reminded yourself again as you itched your left wrist, caking foundation under your fingernails.

_He’s dead._

“Oh my gosh, there you are. I was calling you, you didn’t hear your phone?” Sadie asked when you made it back up to the exhibit. She had already pilfered the gift shop, a pair of dangling shield earrings already on her ears, a bag full of souvenirs on her arm. 

“Sorry,” you said. You had said that word enough times in the span of ten minutes that it sounded like nothing now.

Sadie peered at you closely, narrowing her eyes at you. You averted her gaze, instead picking up a mug randomly that had the Howling Commandos’ insignia on it.

“I’m gonna get this, I’ll be back,” you said to her quickly, wanting to escape her inevitable interrogation. She always knew when something was wrong. It was maddening.

You stood in line, keeping your eyes on the cheap mug in your hand, focusing on your breathing to keep your tears at bay, burying naïve thoughts and nefarious hopes.

_He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead._


	3. Sixteen Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be alarmed by the increase in chapters. The story isn't really getting longer, I just restructured it a bit. Also, thank you for the kind words! I was expecting, like, five people to read this, so I'm grateful for the support. I hope you like this update <3

The final bell sounded, loud and shrill, and completely welcomed on a Friday afternoon.

Your students were quick to pack up, the sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor and papers being shoved into backpacks drowning out the last part of your spiel about the causes of the stock market crash of 1929.

“Okay guys, don’t forget about the quiz we’re having on Wednesday, and we officially start our unit on the Great Depression on Monday!” you called out over the din, rushing to gather some papers on your desk. “And don’t forget to pick up the study guides on your way out!” you reminded them, placing the stack of guides on the corner of your desk.

You sighed as you watched most of your students rush out of the classroom without so much as a glance at the study sheets, the pile remaining neat and untouched. Being a history teacher at Midtown School of Science and Technology was no easy feat. Trying to get your students excited about the subject was like trying to get a fish to breathe air; it was nearly impossible. All of your students were smart, there was no doubt about that, but there was no denying the bored and blank stares you got during class. They weren’t concerned about the past, more enticed by innovation, invention, and the glittering prospect of the future. You couldn’t exactly blame them. There was a reason they chose to attend a school that put emphasis on STEM, but you were determined to get your students rhapsodic for history, even if it was the last thing you ever did. By the looks of it, it just might be.

“Hey Penis, you got any plans this weekend?” Flash Thompson bellowed across the classroom as the rest of the students trickled out into the hall. You winced slightly. Did this kid realize how grating his voice was?

You looked over at Peter, who seemed just as chagrined at the attention, packing up his things with a roll of his eyes. Flash was unrelenting, though, heading over to Peter’s desk and making a big show of displaying the Rolex he had gotten from his father.

“You forgot your name, Parker?” Flash said, leaning over into Peter’s personal space. You could smell the cologne that Flash drenched himself in all the way from your vantage point, so you could only imagine that poor Peter was drowning in it. “What does a dork like you do on a Friday night? Play Dungeons and Dragons?” he sniggered to himself as if he said something particularly witty.

“Flash, please,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Leave him alone.”

Fortunately, that did make him leave Peter alone. Unfortunately, that meant his attention was turned to you. He strolled up to your desk, one of his eyebrows cocked up, a wry grin twisting his mouth in what he probably supposed was a seductive look. You groaned internally. You had no clue what you did to induce the crush Flash decided he had on you this year, but you really wished you could take it back.

“I’m just joshing with the kid, Y/n,” he said as he sidled up in front of you, leaning a hand on your desk. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to,” he said with a wink.

“First of all, it’s Ms. Y/l/n to you,” you informed him, crossing your arms across your chest. “Secondly, you’re like twelve. Get out of my face.” You would usually try to diffuse the situation diplomatically, but it was past 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, and all decorum had flown out the window by lunchtime.

“I’ll be seventeen next month, actually,” Flash replied, not one to be easily deterred. “I’m a man, and you look like you need a man.” He winked. Again.

“Really? In that case…” you said leaning forward a bit. That took Flash by surprise, both his eyebrows meeting his hairline, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, “…you should still get out of my face. I don’t date men named after camera functions.”

Flash’s shoulders deflated, and a chorus of “ooohhhs” and a punctuated “oh damn" sounded from the remaining students.

“Do you need some aloe vera for that burn, Flash?” Ned called out, fist-bumping Peter. He held out his fist to MJ but she only stared at him plainly, and he lowered his hand sheepishly.

“I’ll wear you down one day, Miss,” Flash said after he recovered, giving you one last wink before sauntering out of the classroom.

“Just make sure you wear down those notes for the quiz next week,” you shouted after him. Good lord.

Peter, Ned, and MJ made their way past your desk to the door, each of them picking up a study guide. You couldn’t help but smile at the trio. As a teacher, you tried to be as unbiased as you could with all your students, but those three had a special place in your educator’s heart. They were awkward and quiet, for sure, but they put in hard work in your class and they were the kind of students that reminded you why you wanted to teach in the first place. Peter was especially brilliant, but he didn’t seem to quite believe that yet.

You had hope that he’d realize his own potential one day soon, but lately, he seemed to be preoccupied with something in his personal life. You couldn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that he had landed himself in detention more times than you’d expect for a sweet kid like him. Apparently, he had been caught sneaking out of the building a few times, and in the two years you’d known him, it wasn’t like him to violate the rules like that. You figured it had something to do with everything that went down with his uncle, so you didn’t give him any further grief when you caught him nodding off in class a few times, today included.

“Peter?” you called out, and the three of them stopped in their tracks, MJ and Ned lingering by the door and Peter nervously approaching your desk. You widened your smile to let him know he wasn’t in any trouble, and he visibly relaxed a bit.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” you said, rounding your desk and sitting at the edge of it. “Is everything alright? At home, with you and May? Do you guys need anything?”

“Oh uh, no, we’re good Miss,” he stuttered a bit, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “Thanks for asking.”

“No problem, I’m here to help in any way, if you need it,” you assured him. You narrowed your eyes at his cheek, focusing in on the fading bruise just under his eye. He noticed and he stiffened again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “I would ask if Flash is responsible for that, but I don’t think he’s capable,” you said, and Peter laughed.

He reached up and rubbed at the bruise, as if that would make it go away. “No, I uh, fell. Down the stairs. While I was…getting mail, yeah, there was a wet spot that the custodian missed, and I took a tumble,” he said a little breathlessly, scratching at the back of his neck.

You pursed your lips, deciding not to push the issue. Someone needed to teach this kid how to lie better. “Well, I didn’t realize getting mail was such an extreme sport, but be careful next time, Pete. Have a good weekend,” you said, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“You too, Miss,” Peter said, giving you a lopsided grin and rejoining Ned and MJ. They headed out into the hall, but MJ turned back, opening the notebook she had in her hands and tearing out a page.

“I almost forgot,” she said, placing the piece of paper on your desk. You looked down to find a nice, if not slightly exaggerated drawing of yourself. “For you.”

You blinked down at the drawing for a moment, then looked up at MJ again. “Er…thank you, Michelle. But I’m not in crisis,” you told her, your eyebrows knitting together.

She squinted her eyes at you. “Aren’t you?” she asked in a way that suggested she knew the answer to that better than you did. She nodded sagely at you before departing, leaving you to ponder…whatever it was that she was trying to convey. That girl would forever be a mystery to you.

You packed up your things and headed out into the balmy, April afternoon. You took in a deep breath, and you felt refreshed despite the exhaustion of the last week. You began walking the few blocks to the train station, double-checking your wallet to make sure you had your MetroCard. You took your time strolling along the long avenues of Midtown. You enjoyed New York City in the spring. Everything seemed so much brighter and vibrant, the entire city brimming with new hope and possibilities.

After graduation, it had been Sadie’s idea to move out to New York. She had realized she wanted nothing to do with politics, rendering her poly-sci degree null and void in favor of an entry-level job at a fashion magazine. At first, you weren’t sure, intimidated by the big city and doubtful you could find a good teaching job, but Sadie always had the best ideas, so you followed her here with little resistance. The two of you hadn’t been able to afford anything in Manhattan, but you managed to find a cozy two-bedroom in Downtown Brooklyn that was a quick subway ride away. You loved Brooklyn. It felt new and exciting, but also historic and steeped in tradition. It felt more like home than you had been expecting it to, like somehow it was where you were meant to be. You felt connected to this place, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the three letters on your left wrist.

You tried not to think about it too much. Since the incident a couple of years ago at the Smithsonian, you had been determined not to let your mark control your life. It was something you accepted, but you didn’t want it to hold you back anymore, to consume you in a way that left you splintered and scattered. James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t here, but you were, and you were going to make the most out of your life without him. That included the possibility of sharing your life with someone who wasn’t _him._

Your phone vibrated as you neared the station, and your heart did a little flip. You checked the text on the screen and you couldn’t contain the smile that invaded your face.

_Congrats, teach. You’re free for the next 48 hours._

His name was Will. You had met him while you were browsing the biography section of a used bookstore a couple of months ago. It took quite a few run-ins after the first for you to agree to give him your number, but he was cute and sweet and made you feel good. You had never entertained a relationship before. While you had enjoyed a few cups of coffee with him at the bookstore’s café, you hadn’t committed to an actual date with him. The last guy you had liked was Nathan from 11th grade, and the thought of actually pursuing something romantic made your stomach churn slightly. But Will was special, and you wanted to take that leap with him.

_Thank goodness. Kinda hoping to spend some of those hours with you :)_

Your thumb hovered over the send button, wondering if maybe that was too forward or too corny. You didn’t know the rules for this kind of thing, and it made your pulse speed up, but you decided not to overthink it, pressing your thumb down and sending the message across cyberspace. You cringed a little, ready to hurl your phone into oncoming traffic, but the reply came sooner than you expected.

_Kinda hoping the same thing :)_

You bit your lip, excitement bubbling in your chest, a slight bounce creeping into your steps. It didn’t wear off by the time you got home, and Sadie was quick to point it out.

“Why do you look so giddy?” she asked from the couch as you stepped into the door, placing your keys on the small table beside it.

“I’m not giddy,” you said, failing miserably to contain your smile.

Sadie got up and met you in the kitchen, standing there with her hands on her hips as you rifled through the takeout menu drawer in search of something to eat. You avoided her gaze, smiling down at the various restaurant logos, your face warm and flushed.

“Spill. Now,” Sadie commanded. You broke at that, tipping your head back and laughing, releasing all the giddiness you were trying to hide.

“Okay, okay,” you said, trying to compose yourself, but you dissolved into another fit of giggles.

“Oh my gosh, you’re bursting, get a hold of yourself woman,” Sadie said, though she was laughing herself. “I need to hear this.”

You took a couple of deep breaths and faced her, dramatically pausing to build the suspense.

“I’m two seconds from choking you, tell me!” Sadie cried, giving your shoulders a shake.

“Alright, alright,” you said recovering from another burst of laughter. Suddenly, you grew a little sheepish, looking down at your feet and tugging at your sleeve. “I, uh, I think I’m going to go out with Will this weekend,” you said quietly, the weight of it finally settling over you.

Sadie gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. “Seriously?” she asked, her voice muffled by her fingers.

You nodded, looking up at her shyly. “I think so,” you said, uncertainty edging into your voice. You grabbed at your wrist, rubbing it gently, a wrinkle forming between your brows. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

“No,” Sadie said, grabbing both your hands in her own. “Y/n, this is good. This is a good thing. Will is here, _he’s_ not,” she said gently, glancing down at your wrist. “Will makes you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

You swallowed down the lump threatening to form in your throat. When you had moved in with Sadie, it had become harder to keep your mark a secret from her. You caved one night, telling her everything over a bottle of cheap vodka and multiple pints of ice cream. To your everlasting surprise, she didn’t think you were crazy. She had remembered that day in Mrs. Friedman’s class when you ran out so abruptly, and now she knew why. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders, finally allowing someone else to help carry the burden you had since you were a teenager.

You sighed and nodded, squaring your shoulders again and pushing out a small grin. “You’re right. I’m just nervous, that’s all,” you said, turning back to the drawer to pick out a menu.

“Don’t be, that’s what I’m here for,” Sadie said confidently, scrolling through her phone. “In fact, I think I have the perfect thing for you to wear. Nice and slutty.”

You laughed again, shaking your head at her. You were about to tell her to keep her sluttiness to herself, when you noticed the shocked look on her face.

“Oh _crap_ ,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the screen. “Crap. Crap, crap, _craaaap_ ,” she repeated, scrolling furiously.

“What is it?” you asked, moving closer to her to get a peek at what she was looking at. She looked up at you then, her face ashen, staring at you with an intensity that made a shiver travel down your spine. “What? What happened?”

“We need to turn on the news,” she said, rushing into the living room. You followed after her, watching as she fumbled with the remote, turning on the television and finding CNN.

Images of a smoking building filled the screen, fire trucks dowsing out flames, sirens sounding somewhere off-camera. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read: UNITED NATIONS COMPLEX BOMBED.

“ _A bomb hidden in a news van ripped through the U.N. building in Vienna_ ,” the somber news anchor’s voice reported over the imagery. “ _More than seventy people have been injured, at least twelve are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka_.”

You looked over at Sadie to find her watching you, that same intense expression on her face. She reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly enough that you were concerned about your circulation. You were about to ask her if she was okay, to ask why she was staring at you like that, but what the news anchor said next explained everything.

“ _Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier, the infamous Hydra agent linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations_.” Black and white security footage played, showing a man in a black coat walking into the frame. The image wasn’t too clear, but it was zoomed in, and it was unmistakable. His jawline, his brow, the shape of his nose.

It was him.

 _JBB_.

A strangled sound escaped your throat, your body jerking back as if someone had struck you. You swayed a little, and Sadie’s hand tightened around your own. Your brain was buzzing, trying to process everything, trying to process the impossible.

_How?_

The anchor was all too happy to explain.

“ _Newly declassified documents reveal that Barnes had been in Hydra custody for seventy years, kept in suspended animation to maintain his viability. Before then, he had served alongside Steven Rogers during World War II as a Howling Commando. It was believed that he had died in the line of duty for some seven decades. So far, Captain Rogers nor the Avengers have issued any statement on the matter.”_

The anchor moved onto the next item, more about the passing of the Wakandan king. You stood frozen, looking at the screen blankly, your chest rising with labored breaths.

You heard Sadie talking to you, but she sounded far away, like you were underwater. You felt numb, you felt everything, you felt like you were a scared little girl again, crying in a cold bathroom stall, confused and hurt and alone.

But he was alive. _He_ was alive.

“Oh my gosh, Y/n!” you heard Sadie shout, but you didn’t hear anything else as your knees gave out from under you.

Everything went black.


End file.
